PostGame Wrapup
by James Church
Summary: This is a "Mafia 2" fanfic work-in-progress, based on the game by 2K Czech.  It combines some elements/local from "Grand Theft Auto"  primarily "San Andreas" and a little "Liberty City" , but isn't a true crossover.  There was no "Mafia2" sub-cat.
1. Chapter 1

END GAME & BEYOND

I kept quiet in the car with Leo as we rode back into Empire City. The fact that Joe had saved my life at the Observatory and that he was now getting a bullet in the head and an unmarked grave for his trouble completely, erased the relief I had felt after we wacked Falcone.

Leo made good on his promise; he took us into the "Garden of Eden", the same cathouse that Lydia worked at. I didn't know what I was going to say to her when I saw her. She had been "Joe's main girl" since I got back from the war, despite the fact she clearly was willing to offer her "services" to me, especially after I saved her from that punk in Joe's driveway.

The car pulled into the parking lot and we all made our way inside. Bobby Calvari was already there, half-crocked and a girl already going down on him at a table. Once Eddie had been wacked and the Vinci family took control, they had put Bobby in as new head of the joint. I didn't care for him much, reminded me too much of Eddie, I guess. Leo and his boys grabbed the larger table over by the dance floor. Drinks were served all around and the mood was pretty upbeat. Then, I saw Lydia approaching from the backrooms. Some lucky Marine was straightening his tie and tucking in his shirt. Her redhead and sultry look always got to me, since that first time I saw her in Freddy's bar.

"Vito," she smiled lightly, "Glad you're back." She looked around at the other half dozen guys at the table. "Where's Joe?" Leo nodded to me and I took her aside. We walked past the bar to a side table. "Listen, Lydia," I started. She held put her finger to my lips. "No," she began, "Never mind. Joe's dead, isn't he?" I nodded. She smiled slightly at me. "Always knew he would come to a bad end. But we had a helluva lot of fun for a while." I smiled slightly back. "I'm sorry, Lyd. Joe was my best friend since I was a kid. Saved my life more times than I can count." She nodded. She stood up. "Well, I better get back to work."

"Wait," I touched her arm lightly, "Let's you and me have tonight, just us." She smiled broader. "Bobby's gonna want you to cover his losses, Vito." "Fuck Bobby." She smiled even bigger.

We helped each other through that night. It was more than just the usual Friday night screwing; she actually seemed to be showing a little tenderness, even affection for me. Though I got the feeling, it was more about her trying to cheer me up about Joe, than the other way around. I knew Lydia was a whore, but she always seemed to have this "soft spot" for me. Even when I'd see her banging Joe whenever we'd party at his apartment. Always caught this sideways glance from her, looking over at me, as I was doing whatever "girlfriend" she brought over. And when me and Joe would "switch out", she always seemed much more into me. Of course, like any good hooker, she could have been faking it…but I didn't think so.

Leo had gotten me a room at the Empire Hotel. The next morning the phone rang and as I leaned over Lydia, still sleeping, I picked it up. "Morning, kid" Galante began, "Ready to get to work?" "Uh, sure, Leo," I started, "But you never told me what I would be doing?" He laughed. "You're a capo, now, Vito. I'm giving you Derek's old territory, the docks." The Docks? That was a prime bit of money-making for the Vinci Family. He continued, "Mind you, we want a legitimate face at the head of the union. With your record, the Feds would do too much investigating. You got anybody in mind to take over as the …front man?" I thought for a second. "Sure, Kasimir Wochesky, Polack guy. Helped me out."

"Helped you out…in taking out Derek?" I blanched. Hitting Derek violated the Code, but once I had learned he was the one who hit my father, I wasn't going let the fat bastard breath another breath. "Listen, Leo…" "Water under the bridge, kid," he interrupted, "I never liked the fat pig anyway. If this guy will put a friendly face on our operations at the Docks…and do what he's told….it's your call." I was slightly relieved and slightly worried. Would Kaz follow orders? "Okay, great." I said, "I'll head down there in an hour or so."

By this time, Lydia had woken up. She sat up in bed and looked at me standing by the nightstand. "Going somewhere?" she said smoothly, letting the sheet "accidentally" drop down from across those great tits of hers. "Hell," I thought, "The Docks can wait an extra hour."


	2. Chapter 2

FIRST DAY AT THE JOB

The drive down to the Docks, gave me time to think. I was pretty familiar with the way Papalardo had run things. Typically, it was shaking down the local longshoremen for "barber money" or something. It made him pretty rich but also ran up a lot of bad feelings, feelings they were more than happy to act on when I took on him and his goons that day. Long term, it wasn't a means of getting rich and staying rich, and as a capo, I was going to have to pay a good chunk of my earnings up to Leo, being the new head of the Family.

Slightly less profitable for him, but more appealing, was his "skimming" off cargo coming into the Docks. A couple hundred thousand bucks a week worth of stuff entered that port. Radios, cigarettes, guns, booze, even some of those new "television sets". A few changes to the invoices, a few claims of "lost in transit" (with a bribe to the ship captains to sign off on it), and those items could be run out on the streets by the guys under me. Any cops didn't buy the "It fell off a truck" line…slip 'em a twenty and they minded their business. I remembered how much me and Joe had made, selling smokes to the factory workers and dockhands.

Pulling into the gate, I deliberately parked outside Derek's office in "his spot". I wasn't going to let these guys think I was a push-over either. I walked down to the Main Warehouse. Bullet-holes still covered the walls where the shoot-out had been. Inside were a few of the longshoremen, as well as Wochesky. "Hey Kaz!" I called. He walked up to me smiling. "Vito! Glad to see you again." I pulled him aside, smiling back at the other boys.

"Listen," I began, "We're going to need a new union boss, and I think you're the perfect guy for the job." He looked stunned for a moment. Then kind of straightened, "That's great, Vito, but listen…I ain't gonna shake down the guys like Derek did. These guys are my pals." I shook my head. "Hey, no, I understand. I don't want that either." He smiled. "Mind you, I think there may be a way," I hinted, "We make a few bucks on the side?" Kaz sort of smirked. "I got no problem with that, Vito." I smiled. We shook hands and walked over to Derek's office. It was still a goddamn mess, glass everywhere, and tons of blood and fire damage in the warehouse, but we could get it cleaned up.

The next day, I went to Leo's house in Hillwood He greeted me at the door, after two of his muscle cleared me through the main gate. He led me upstairs to the library. "So, Vito," he began, "Got a few things to talk over with you." I nodded and sat down. "I didn't mention it earlier, but you need to know. Frank Vinci is pretty sick." "Sick?" Leo sat and explained. "Yeah…cancer, in the gut. Pretty bad. Doc says he's got two, maybe three months, tops." "Jesus, that's awful," I said. He went on. "Frank has named me 'temporary Don'…but I think we both know it's going to be permanent. Anyway, I hope I can count on you support as Don." "Hell, yeah, Leo. Anything. You saved my life." He smiled. "Thanks, Vito, I knew I could count on you."

Changing the subject, he went on. "So? How are things looking at the Docks?" "Pretty good, I got my guy in as the new union boss. They'll hold an election next week, but I think it will be a pretty…unanimous vote." He nodded. "Great, great. And what are we looking at on our end?"

I explained my plan to skim off the top of the cargo incoming into the port. Then, I added, "Plus we might be able to take a cut out of the union dues, but we'd have to keep it pretty flush so the Feds don't get wise." He had another idea. "Actually, Vito, I think we may have another use for that money." He walked over to the side table and poured himself and me a drink.

"Ever hear of 'Nasty' Cohen?" "Sure, everybody knows 'Nasty'" Nathan "Nasty" Cohen had been a big leader in the Jewish Mob that operated in Liberty City until the 1930s. As the Italians took over, the Jews had relegated themselves to "advisors" or moved out to Florida or the West Coast. Cohen had gotten this idea for building a big casino in Las Venturas, San Andreas. The Leone Family had footed the bill. The idea paid off and by 1951, Las Venturas had several casinos going, mostly owned by the Leones, Sindaccos, and Forellis. But Cohen's "Pink Swan" was the biggest and swankiest and pulled in the most dough.

"Well, Nasty is looking to retire, I think," Leo continued. "I've discussed it with Don Leone and Don Sindacco and they are willing to see us take over his operation…as a _favor_." I was puzzled. "Really, Leo? I never figured Nasty would retire." Galante smiled grimly. "Well, let's say, he'll consider it _strongly_…after you visit him." The meaning was clear. Leo was muscling Cohen out, and his backers had agreed to let the Vinci Family take over, probably for both a cut and for some "accommodation" between the always competing Empire City and Liberty City mobs.

"When do I leave?" I asked. Leo smiled. "Tomorrow. We gotta move fast on this. Take Carmine and Corrado with you. Nasty thinks we're coming out to discuss opening a hotel/casino of our own. Meet him at the Swan. And you guys better pack some heat, just in case he takes retirement _badly_." I nodded. We shook hands and I drove back into Uptown. I stopped off at clothing store. I decided if I was going to be a capo, I should start dressing the part and get away from the T-shirt and leather jacket look. I spent close to $200 on suits, ties, hats. Then loaded them all into the back of the car. Soon as I got back, my next stop would be finding myself a house.

I took one last trip down to the Docks. It was late in the evening, but the boys had cleaned up Derek's old office pretty good and swabbed out the blood and brains. The fire damage would take longer, but Derek's bank account had been found and Leo let me use that to "fix things up" so the insurance companies and cops would need to figure into it. I walked up to Wochesky. "Kaz, you getting settled in?" He smiled. "Yeah, thanks, Vito." I pulled him outside to the top of the stair. "Listen, I'm heading out of town for a few days. Keep an eye out for a few invoices that might have some 'discrepancies'…especially things like booze or smokes or maybe some of those tee-vees." He smirked and nodded. "Don't worry, Vito. I got some guys I can trust." I smiled and shook his hand.

Back at the hotel, I got the concierge to start unloading my clothes, while I went upstairs to order some room service. As I got down the hall, I saw the door cracked slightly open. Pulling my 1911 quickly, I slowly prodded the door open with the muzzle. The bed was made and it looked empty. Then I heard a slight noise from the bathroom. I busted the door open and found myself pointing my gun at Lydia, soaking the tub covered in bubbles. "I'm unarmed, officer, I promise" she said sultrily. "Lyds, what the hell? I could have blasted you." She smiled even broader. "Last night was so much fun, I thought we could have another go?" I sat down on the toilet lid. "Sure, but I gotta leave tomorrow for Las Venturas, so it's got to be an early night." She slowly stood out of the tub. Quickly the bubbles fell off her. One last small one popped on her left nipple. Foam still covered much of her stomach and her snatch. "First, how about joining me for a nice hot bath?"


	3. Chapter 3

VIVA LAS VENTURAS

The flight out to the coast had taken nearly all day. We left at 7am and only got into the small, but being expanded, "Las Venturas Airport" around dusk. Three of Cohen's boys met us. I sized them up pretty quickly. One or two of them might be tough, but the other looked like just another fat, lazy fuck that had had too many "buffets" and spent too much time on his ass, getting blown by cocktail waitresses. They were friendly and off their guard though, the cover story that we were out there to "start up a new casino" apparently was taken at face value.

Las Venturas itself wasn't much to speak of. Most of it was a dried-out desert town. Only when we got to "the Strip" did it show signs of life and a sophisticated look. Cohen's place was the "The Pink Swan", best of the hotel/casinos. He had poured a fortune of Leone and Sindacco cash into the place. Love to brag he'd "spared no expense." Which pissed the hell out of the wiseguys back in Liberty City, given it was THEIR money he was sparing no expense with. We pulled up to the entry way, and some little dude in a bellman's outfit opened the door and let us into the joint.

The inside was swanky too. Red carpets everywhere, gold filigree trims, marble tile floors. The dealers all were in bow-ties and the waitresses all had short skirts and those "peek-a-boo" blouses. The house was just starting to fill up for the night, but the blackjack and roulette tables were already raking in the loot. Cohen's boys lead us to the elevator and up to the penthouse suites. Escorting us into one labeled "The Presidential"; we saw a buffet laid out, ten or twelve different fifths of booze, and a couple of champagne tubs filled and ready to go. "Mr. Cohen will be with you shortly, guys" one of the men said, and they left.

Carmine and Corrado lifted the bottles of liquor, examining them. Carmine sniffed. "Pretty good booze." They nosed around the buffet, but like me, they didn't eat anything. I knew them fairly well from my dealings with Vinci and Leo. Carmine Benedetto had been in the joint with Leo, part of his fighting "club" down in the laundry. His broke nose and droopy left eye told me he had lost a few, but the fact he topped out at six foot-two and 250lbs, all muscle, made me think most of them weren't exactly "fair fights." Corrado Andolini was a first generation Sicilian. He hadn't been off the boat two months before Vinci brought him in as hired muscle. Shorter and leaner, I knew he was even deadlier than Benedetto. He was utterly loyal…to whoever the Don was. Leo remarked that he had deliberately taken a bullet for Vinci once. Like me, they were both packing a piece.

The door burst open and Nathan "Nasty" Cohen came in, trailed by two of the boys who brought us in. "Hey, Vito," he stuck out his hand, smiling broadly, "Nice to finally meet you. Heard some good things about you." I shook it. Cohen was in his early fifties. Slender and well-groomed, he had a high forehead and a shock of graying curly hair. He was wearing a black silk suit, with a carnation in the lapel. Again, he always had the reputation for being a clothes-horse. "Have a seat, have a seat. Grab ya a drink, if you want" he continued.

We sat at a conference table towards the window. The spotlights and neon lights were just starting to create the false day that was the Strip. "So, boys, what can I do for the Vinci Family…or is it called the Galante Family now? Word on the street is that Frank's not doing too good." he smiled oily. I don't know how he knew about Don Vinci's illness, but I pretended to ignore the last part, but decided to zing him a little for it. "Well, Nasty…" His gaze blackened, so did his goons. "Nathan! My name is Nathan," he nearly yelled, "It's from the fuckin' Bible." I smiled. He calmed down a bit. "But, my friends call me Nate. You my friend, Vito?" I nodded. "Sure, uh, Nate. Anyway, Don Vinci and Leo have a little business proposition for you. We're looking to get into the casino business out here." Cohen leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head. "Great. Always happy to lend my expertise to a newcomer." I smiled to myself. Poor dumb bastard.

"Well, actually, Nate," I began to drop the boom, "We want to buy YOUR casino. Mr. Vinci and Leo figured you were ready to retire." Cohen sat upright, anger beginning to boil up, but I continued. "They've already spoken to Don Leone and Don Sindacco back in Liberty. They support them." That knocked Nasty Cohen back a bit. Then glowering again, he blurted. "Oh, yeah? Well, I'll get on the phone to the old guys and see about that." I shook my head. "Waste of breath, Nate. They've already cut a deal for the Swan. Your only option is coming up with a reasonable fee for your services and your ..uh…retirement." Cohen stood. His goons backed him up on either side.

"Fuck you, you guinea punk!" he began, "I don't get muscled out of the business I built with my own fucking hands." He pointed out the window. "I could bury your ass in the desert and Galante can kiss my fucking ass." I looked over to see Carmine and Corrado taking positions. I remained calm. "That's a bad attitude, Nate." "Look you wop, keep talking and I'll show you a fucking 'bad attitude'. Now get the hell outta my casino!" He stood there. I stood and motioned to Carmine and Corrado. "Your hotel is very nice" I said, and we walked out the door. Another "Fuck you!" came from behind the closing door. Corrado, last, watching our back. In the elevator on the way down, the boys looked at me. I nodded.

We hopped a cab over to the Fremont Hotel, checked in, and I called Leo. "What'd he say, kid?" "What do you think he said?" Silence for a moment. "Too bad," finally came Leo's voice, "I always liked Nate. But…business is business." "Yes, sir." "How hard a job is it going to be? You need more muscle?" "No, sir. I scoped out his boys. Pretty much push-overs. Plus, he'll likely be expecting us to wait a day or so for reinforcements. If we do it now, he won't expect it." I could imagine Leo smiling on the other end. "Always the smart one, Vito. Okay, let me know how it goes." We hung up.

We unpacked. The boys had Tommy guns, no drums, just the straight clip. I brought my M3 "grease gun" and a little something special Harry had rigged up for me. We didn't want to "shoot the place up", after all, it was soon going to be OUR hotel and we didn't want it to get a reputation as a "dangerous joint". But we also didn't want any of Cohen's goons to survive as well. Leo had wanted the place "cleaned it out".

According to Leo's source, Nasty typically didn't turn in until three or four in the morning. That's when we were going to make our move. We slept, in shifts, until then. A layout of the hotel had been given to Leo by a guy from the Leone Family. Like him, they knew Nasty probably wasn't going to go down without a fight. The layout of the place looked pretty good. A late-night doorman named O'Brian had been paid off to crack open the exit door on the west wing. All we had to do was make a call, ask for him, and then say "Looks like rain today, Mike", and fifteen minutes later, we'd have our way into the joint. It came off without a hitch.

Just after 4am, Carmine, Corrado, and I entered the cracked exit door. We left a rented Schubert Beverly parked in a parking space near it. Cohen's personal suite was on the top floor, just two doors down from the one we met in. The climb up the stairs was a pain, but me and the boys were in pretty good shape. When we got to the top floor, I cracked the door and peered out. Two of Cohen's guards were standing outside his door. He was smart, already counting on a hit. Fortunately the position of the stairway door was off slightly from the hallway itself. We were able to sneak out and get around the corner without them seeing us.

It was perfect for "Harry's special". Basically he had rigged up a "silencer" on an High Standard HDM pistol. Claimed it was the exact same design that "Wild Bill" Donovan and the OSS (now CIA) boys had during the War. He warned that the silencer wouldn't be good for more than a couple of shots, but a couple were all I needed. I crouched down and took aim at the first goon. The second was perfectly lined up beside him on the other side of the door.

"POP!" The sound was only slightly louder than a champagne bottle opening up. As the first guy started to fall to the floor, his buddy turned. "Ker-POP!" I caught the other one dead in the chest. And he fell. Given the "sound-proofing" of the walls, I doubted that Cohen had heard a thing. The boys and I quickly rushed up and dragged the bleeding corpses into a nearby linen closet. Looking around, we saw nobody in the halls and no sound from Nasty's suite. The blood on the floor nearly matched the red carpet.

I holstered the pistol and slowly opened the door to the suite. Inside was still lit, and we heard noise coming from a back bedroom. Creeping around into position, we moved towards the bedroom door. It was slightly open and I saw some broad, on top of Cohen, riding like a cowboy on a bucking bronco. I always hated killing women, but we couldn't leave any witnesses. We kicked the door in and trained our guns on Nasty.

"Should've taken the deal, 'Nate'." The girl fell over onto the bed, screaming. Cohen was stunned but quickly tried to recover and reached under his pillow, obviously for a piece. But it was too late. We opened up with everything we had. His torso was turned into hamburger. Enough strays hit the girl, but after I saw Cohen spewing blood, I capped off a shot into her head as well. They both lay silent in a pool of blood, dripping off the sheets and onto the floor. Cohen had caught one or two in the head as well, causing his right eyeball to pop out, hanging like a kid's balloon by the nerve. We bolted for the door, slowing down, just to check out the hall and then made for the stairwell.

On the way down, I figured any remaining Cohen goons would be so scared shitless that we'd have no more trouble from them. Most of them were hired muscle and would go where the pay was. Any of the remaining Jewish mobsters would know they either took their place in the "new management" or face a shallow grave in the Bone County desert.

The return trip was uneventful. We got up the next morning for our flight back. The local newspaper, the "Star", had a five inch banner headline about the killing. "NASTY DEAD!" it screamed. Local town cops and the County Sheriff had "no leads." In case they got a little too "enthusiastic", we buried our weapons out in the desert after we left the Swan. But it wasn't needed; we climbed onboard the plane and made our way back to Empire Bay with no problems.

Within a week, the same rag reported "New Manager At The Swan", as "Fat Joe" Nunzi was put in by Leo. Soon the cash was rolling. I got ten grand from the Don, and Carmine and Corrado got a taste as well. I spent it on Lydia, "buying her whole evening" at the Garden of Eden.


	4. Chapter 4

THE GLORY DAYS

Seven weeks after the "Cohen deal", Frank Vinci died of metastasized cancer of the colon. Everybody showed of course. Even a few ex-mayors and city councilmen. Leo spoke the eulogy and honest tears fell from his eyes. Even so, a day later, a meeting was held at the trucking company office, and me and the other capos unanimously voted Leo as the new Don.

1952 to 1958 was the best of the best, I guess. The Docks were paying off big time. We'd pull down three or four grand a month. Kaz never got greedy, so it just became standard practice for the insurance detectives to just "give up" and accept a certain amount of losses and write it off. Our operations in Las Venturas were paying off as well. Though the Leone Family and Sindacco Family still had some interests there, the Swan was the big draw. By 1953, we had also taken over the Fremont Hotel and El Montezuma, plus a few whorehouses outside of town.

My cut from the Docks was more money than I had ever seen as a simple "soldier". In 1952, I bought a house in Greenfield again. This time a little closer to town. My old lot (the house had been plowed down) was available, but I guess I was a little superstitious. The new one was a nice Colonial, two doors down from where me and Joe had hit that Angelo rat. It was much bigger than I needed, but something was coming up that made me feel like I was going to need a bigger place.

Lydia and I had grown very close. In fact, by Fall of 1952, I got her out of the Garden of Eden. Made her Wochesky's "secretary" down at the Docks, though she and I and Kaz knew that it was just another way to funnel cash out of the Docks. She proved pretty good at it too, keeping track of invoices that were "altered" and keeping the insurance dicks from getting wise. I figured she probably got us another one or two grand a month.

One night, lying in bed, I made my move. "Hey, Lyds," I started. She turned and looked over at me. "Already? Geezus, Vito, that's twice already and it's not even midnight." She moved closer. "You're insatiable." "Naw," I stopped her, "Well, not yet." I cleared my throat. "No, I was thinking…what would you think about getting married?" Her eyes widened and then she giggled, which turned into a guffaw. "Married?" she exclaimed, between laughs, "Christ, Vito. You don't marry a girl like me." "Why not?" She laughed, lighter this time. "I'm your goomah. I'm the girl you come to, when the cute little wifey back home is on the rag, or you need a blow-job and she's pissed because you're late for dinner or 'finds it disgusting'. You don't marry me, you …you 'keep me up'. In an apartment 'in town' with an 'allowance' or something."

I sat up. "Why the hell shouldn't I marry you?" She looked slightly surprised. I went on. "Hey, if I want some ditzy housewife who'll lay there and wonder when it's going to be over, I would have found one already. You're honest about liking to be nailed." She became serious. "Come on, Vito. What are you going to do? Join the country club up in Hillwood and bring your former whore wife along to the cocktail parties? Hell, half the guys you'd meet I'd have fucked or sucked." I pondered this for a moment. She went on. "You see me baking cookies for the PTA at Vito Junior's school… while the principal who banged me doggy-style for $20, looks on?" She smiled. "You're sweet, but I know who I am and what I am and I've made my peace with…being a piece."

I persisted. "No. No, fuck that shit. Some guy says something to you or to me at a fucking country club, I lay him out. And that principal can jerk off, remembering the good time that he'll never have again…cuz you're my wife now!" She smiled broadly. "Seriously?" "Hell, yes." Her eyes narrowed. "So you aren't going to mind being married to a ..slut…a tramp…a woman of 'easy virtue'?" I laughed. "You going to mind being married to a ..thug…a goon…a mad-dog killer?" She shook her head. "Me neither," I said. And we kissed, probably the longest romantic kiss we'd had up to then. Then we did it a third time and ultimately two more times until dawn.

The marriage was simple. Father Antonelli married us at Saint Crisogono's in Little Italy, my ma's church, on January 4th, 1953. My sister Frankie showed up. I wasn't sure she would. But it seems she finally had enough of that asshole husband of hers and knew I was right to have beaten the crap out of him. She told me she was leaving Eric and acted as Matron of Honor for Lydia, who didn't have any family. Leo and the boys showed, along with a few of the broads from the Garden of Eden. I later heard that Leo told any of the guys that if they cracked wise about Lydia or mentioned "being with her", that he would personally have Pepe bust their skulls.

Lydia wore white. We both figured we had enough hypocrisy between us in the eyes of the Church that what was one more. After the wedding, Leo sprang for our honeymoon, trip out to Las Venturas. Suite at the Swan, tour of the Grand Canyon, with side-trips to San Fiero and San Andreas. We were gone two weeks and when we got back, the girls at the cathouse had redecorated the bedroom of my house, again with Leo's cash, into a nice little bridal suite for Lydia. For all the world, you'd have just put us down as another middle class, ordinary married couple. The "Scalettas of 154 Oak Street." And not an ex-hooker and a gangster with dozens of murders to his "credit."

A year later, Lydia got pregnant. Well, technically, I should say "got pregnant and stayed that way". She'd had a half dozen abortions before. In fact, we kind of worried that she'd never get pregnant again because of them, but she did. On November 22nd, 1954, Antonio "Tony" Scaletta-II was born, named for my pop. He had my black hair, but Lydia's blue eyes. Strong little bastard too, bellowed out so loud when the doctor smacked his ass, I could hear it out in the waiting room of the Empire Bay Hospital maternity ward.

Two years after that, on May 3rd 1956, Maria Rebecca, "Becky", was born. Named after my ma and a friend of Lydia's. A real beauty. Got her mom's nose and red hair, and my eyes. Those eyes...still haunt me to the end of my days. She was my "little girl." Always was, even to her teenage years and ...

So there we were, one average American family in 1950s America. We even had a fucking dog. I'd pull in every evening, like any other "businessman" returning from "work". Wife would have the dinner on the table; kids playing in the yard, reading the newspaper and watching Arthur Godfrey or Steve Allen. Hell, I mowed the lawn on Saturday afternoons and talked with Bob across the yard. Told everybody I was in "account management and customer relations" for Leo's cover business "Vinci Trucking & Storage." Except for the beatings of rival mobsters, embezzlement, larcenies, bribery, and occassional murders...it was true.

By the way, when Tony went to Hillwood Academy, his principal was this guy named O'Malley. He'd been a regular "customer" of Lydia's back in the day. She recognized him and he recognized her the first day of school. He also recognized me. His uncle by marriage had been a torpedo in the Falcone mob. I'd taken him out at the Observatory that day. Principal O'Malley never said a fucking word, except to be EXTRA nice to me and "Mrs. Scaletta". I also think he may have gotten Tony a few As when he maybe would have gotten B grades. Everything was pretty sweet.

But the peaceful life isn't the life of the wiseguy. And things were in the works by 1957 and into 1958, that were about to see that whole thing turn upside down.


	5. Chapter 5

THE BEGINNING OF THE END FOR LEO-

November of 1957 was when it all started. There was a meeting in upstate New York, about two hundred miles north of Liberty City in a little burg called Adirondakin at the country home of Paolo Leone, brother of Salvatore. Over a hundred Mafiosi attended the meeting. Nearly half of them got arrested there.

Into the mid to late 50s, things were getting good, but tensions were starting to rise among the "old timers" like Leo and the old Sicilian mobsters and those of us younger guys who were brought in after World War-II. Primarily the fight was between those who still wanted to stick to the Old Mafia ways and some of us (though I never outright opposed Leo on it) who figured "money was money" and were willing to do whatever it took to get it.

Salvatore Leone was a capo in the Leone Family that his uncle "Old Sal" had founded in the 1920s, but he was gradually working his way into muscling out the old man and dropping any pretense of wanting to stick with the "old ways". This was rubbing some of the guys on The Committee the wrong way.

Let me back up on that too, for those not in the know. "The Committee" had been founded in the 30s. All the big Mob bosses had gotten together and divided up the country into territories. Don Vinci, Don Falcone (the father of Carlo), Leo, plus the Families in Liberty City, the Midwest boys, and the guys on the West Coast had all agreed to a "council" which would mediate disputes and prevent a full-scale war from erupting, bringing the Feds down on all of them. For years, it had worked. But the old guys at the heads of the table weren't changing with the times, and guys like Salvatore Leone weren't going to wait on them to die off.

Tensions kept rising, until finally hits were started to be made among the Families in Liberty City. It looked like a full-scale war would break out. War that probably would include us in Empire Bay. Already, we had had to push back against Leone guys trying to move heroin through the Docks.

August 15, 1957. Kaz and I were doing our general inventory of cargo one afternoon about four o'clock, getting ready to pull a couple dozen TVs off an invoice. We were heading back from the Main Warehouse, when a Berkley Kingfisher pulls up and four guys get out. I recognized one of them, a goombah named Gualtieri, who worked for Sal Leone. They were all friendly…at first. I told Kaz to head back over to the main building.

"Hey, Vito," he said walking up, "Artie Gualtieri…we met at that party at the El Montezuma in Venturas last year." Faking geniality, I smiled. "Yeah, Artie." I shook his hand. His boys flanked him, not smiling. "You got pretty stoned that night." He laughed. "Yeah, too much good Scotch. Thanks to your boss." He cleared his throat. "Anyways, we got this crate coming in off that ship." He pointed to the SS "Marivailles", French ship we hadn't unloaded yet. "And we were hoping you and your boys would ..see it through customs, no questions asked." I shrugged. "What's in it?" He smiled again. "Let's just say some …'sugar'..from some friends in Turkey. Naturally, we'll pay you for your…time and effort."

That was all I needed. Heroin. All the heroin on the East Coast came from Frenchies, using connections in Turkey where the poppies were grown. Obviously there was too much heat in Liberty City, so they thought they could move it through Empire Bay and dodge the Feds. Problem is, Leo had a strict rule against it. And I had to back it up. Despite the fact that Gualtieri would probably pay one or two grand to me to get it loaded on a truck for Liberty.

"Sorry, Artie," I began, "Can't do that. You know Don Galante's rules on drugs." He kept smiling, but I continued. "But as a friend of ours, I'll let your ship head back out and not mention it to him." Still smiling, he shook his head. "Sorry, Vito. We're kind of on a schedule. We need that cargo on a truck tonight. Customers are waiting and Sal promised them delivery this week." His goons started to fan out a little bit. Fortunately, Kaz saw what was coming and already had two of the boys coming out of the main building with him. Gualtieri continued "So, tell ya what…you just go home for the night and leave the unloading for us. And there won't be any trouble." I smiled, shrugged and eased my way around him and his boys like I was making for my car.

His goons kept watching me, as I walked around to the driver's side. I nodded to Kaz. Reaching in my glove-box, I pulled out my 357. I guess one of Gualtieri's guys caught a glint and they pulled their pieces. Immediately the bullets started flying. Kaz and one of my guys dived behind some crates. The other caught a bullet in the leg, but laid low behind a cargo net piled up on the dock. He wasn't hit too bad and managed to still pop off a few shots.

I was taking fire, but the car blocked the bullets. Drawing a bead, I took out one of Gualtieri's guys with a head shot. Gualtieri himself kept popping up, firing a 45 automatic, but I couldn't get a line of shot on him. Kaz moved in slowly, from crate to crate, firing his shotgun. Eventually he was able to catch a Gualtieri guy in the leg; half the calf muscle ripped away with the fabric of his pants and lay on the dock like a hunk of meat in blue butcher paper. When he fell over, crippled, Kaz caught him again in the neck and shoulder, dropping him for good. The other boy kept up suppressing fire, which was all I needed.

I dropped the other Gualtieri guy, but he caught me in the upper arm with a 45 slug. It hurt like hell, but didn't hit a major artery so I kept going. Finally, I caught a glimpse of Gualtieri standing behind a crate, with a bucket on top of it. I had an idea. I popped off a shot at the bucket and it dropped off, grazing his back and making him turn towards his right. I ran up and caught him with two shots in the back, one obviously puncturing his lung. His gun went flying into the water. "Fuck!" he screamed, dropping to his knees. "Godammit! Fuck!" he went on, blood gurgling in his throat and he rolled over on his back. As he did, he saw me staring down at him, my Magnum pointed at his head. "Fuck you, Scaletta!" barely audible through the blood in his mouth His brains splattered across the wooden planks of the dock.

We rounded up the other boys and cleaned up the mess, just as the cops showed up to "investigate reports of gun-fire at the docks". Kaz told them it was a crate of light-bulbs that got dropped and slipped the flatfoot a $20 and that ended it. Meanwhile, I was up in the office, bandaging up my arm. Tom, the guy on our side, who caught it in the leg, was similarly bandaged. It was a rough job, so we headed out to "El Greco", the local Mob doctor. He saw us right in and while he was patching Tom up, I called Leo and let him know what happened.

"Ah, hell," was his response after I told the tale, "This is getting out of hand fast." He told me to relax and not worry about it, I did the right thing, and that he would handle it with Leone. After I got done with him, I called home. I told Lydia I was "okay, but working late"; she knew not to ask and that she'd wait for me. When I got home, she fussed and fretted over the wound, but I assured her that it was no big deal and just a "little bad blood" that was resolved. I lied.

Don Galante called a meeting with me and the other capos the next week. He said that plans were being made to "fix everything" and we should try to tamp down any fires until then. I didn't know exactly how that was going to work, but fortunately no more incidents like the one with Gualtieri occurred until November.

The meeting was all arranged and on November 5th 1957, Leo, me, Carmine, Corrado, even Fat Joe from Venturas arrived at Paolo Leone's house. All the big boys were there, with capos, and lots of guards. Everything was friendly and cordial…complete bullshit, of course. Anshel Pinsky led the meeting.

Little background on him. Pinsky was the old man of the old "Jewish Mafia". Also known as the "Mob Accountant". He'd been old buddies with Nasty Cohen and was the guy who set up the first big casinos and Mob operations in Cuba. He was worth a fortune. As a Jew, he was distrusted by the Sicilians, but he'd never lost them money and they all felt "safe" with him since he wasn't a guy to use violence and he had nothing but his cash to prop up his position. Kind of a "Golden Goose". You didn't kill him because he made you money and you'd lose more than what you could make taking over his operations. As a "neutral", he was appointed the "moderator" of the meeting.

We'd barely gotten started when Federico Bonpensiero, one of Paolo Leone's guys came rushing in. He practically yelled, "The cops! Cops got the roads blocked. We're fucking surrounded!" Panic ensued. A lot of the guys there had outstanding criminal records; many were packing heat…a ticket back to prison if they were on parole. Some were loaded down with cash, most of which they couldn't explain. Everybody dashed for the exits. Leo grabbed me, Carmine, Corrado, and Fat Joe and pushed us to the backdoor. We started a mad dash out the back and across the fields and into the woods.

The cops must have caught wise, cuz we saw them start flooding into Leone's property. The guys trying to drive out got picked up first. Never stood a chance. I was making my way to the woods, but had to slow down for Leo and Fat Joe. The old man and the fat man were lagging behind and I could see New York state cops closing fast. "Go on, get outta here," Leo called. I ran back, "No way, come on." I grabbed him around the underarms and started to pull hm. "No, kid. Leave me. You'll never make it." I kept pulling him. Joe wasn't even moving, he was panting so hard I figured he'd have a heart attack. Most of the rest of our muscle had already hightailed it, but Carmine and Corrado came back and tried to get Joe to move. "No, Vito, go, " Galante said to me, breathing heavily. "I'm not leaving you, Leo." I forgot to call him "Don Galante", but he didn't care.

He looked up at me, the cops were closing fast. "Listen, Vito, take Corrado and Carmine…" They had just come up, hefting a 290 lbs. Joe as best they could. "Get back to Empire, you gotta run things while I'm…gone…the Family will collapse, if they get you and me both. Kid, it's the only way to keep things together!" His eyes were pleading. "Leo…I…" "I know, kid. Now, please, for me….get the hell out of here!" Carmine and Corrado looked at me. I nodded and waved to them. We took off at top speed. I looked back only once, a couple dozen yards past the field, just as the woods started to get heavy. I could see Leo surrounded by a half dozen New York state troopers, his hands up.

My Army training came in handy, I guess. Carmine, Corrado, and I made it through the woods and over to the neighboring town of Onato. My old skill at lockpicking too paid off too. I boosted a Potomac some guy had left beside a diner. We then tore ass across every flat-top two-lane to western New York. I don't think we stopped, except to piss and get gas until we hit Buffalo. We dumped the car and caught the train back to Empire.

November 7th, we pulled into the city and I made my way over to "Vinci Trucking". Word had already reached the boys left behind that Leo and Joe had been nicked. Leo were being held on charges relating to his bust back in the 40s that landed him in Federal prison where I met him. They had Joe on some old gun-running beef. None of it looked like it was going to stick, but the trial lasted until December 20th. Leo and Joe got back into Empire Bay just in time for Christmas. And it was me who was going to be getting a "present."


	6. Chapter 6

DON VITO?

The weeks after the meeting, up to Leo's return, had been pretty chaotic. He had made it known officially that I was "acting Boss while he was away." Some of the older capos weren't particularly happy, but most of the younger ones were pretty sure I was a "stand-up guy" and honestly supported me.

The key thing was to keep the Feds off our tails in the ensuing weeks, eventually months and years. Hoover had finally had to admit there WAS an American Mafia, as he had denied for years, because he knew it risked his men possibly being bribed or corrupted. To keep the Press and Congress off his back, he had to start up operations to "smash the Mob". Every city came under scrutiny. Operations started tapping phone lines and paying off stoolies.

Most of it was "irritating mosquito" stuff. Some Fed comes down to the Docks and wants to see the books, but our informants had tipped us and the real accounts were stored behind a wall before they got there. Made men with a record were picked up for questioning, grilled a few hours, then let go when our lawyers showed up and demanded they be charged or released. Cops under pressure from the Governor, or even some "reformer" Mayor, busting more cathouses, gambling dens, or be on the lookout for phony license plates. The usual bullshit.

I'd pretty much settled things in the Family while Leo was on trial. Operations went on as they had always gone on. Though one of the younger guys suggested I move into Leo's office at "Vinci Trucking", I put the kibosh on that. No way. This wasn't permanent, even if Leo got some time in the joint. He was still Don. I think that move made me more popular with the older guys, though I put Corrado on permanently as my security, both at the offices, the Docks, and at home. Naturally, my "cut" increased, but I put most of it to Galante's legal fees and the boys appreciated that as well.

When Leo and Joe finally got back, a party unlike anything since the old days was thrown. Naturally the Feds and some cops were on stake-out. But the boys were on their guard as well, and we made sure the drivers had no records and didn't touch a drop and stayed five miles below the speed limit on the way home. Leo looked awful. His face was more haggard than I had ever seen it. He seemed hunched over and even his smiles at the party seemed weak. When I got one of the whores for him, he balked, sending her away to one of the capos.

"Hey, boss," I said coming up to him with a Scotch, "Nice party, huh?" He smiled weakly. "Thanks, kid. For all you've done." I shook my head. "Naw, it was nothing. Just kept things going. But now that you're back, you can …" He raised his hand and shook his head. "No, Vito. I'm out. This time for real." I remembered his first claim of "retirement" after Henry had been ordered to hit him and he cut a deal. But he came back, even stronger and took out Carlo Falcone. I faked a laugh. "Oh, yeah, Don Galante, sure, sure." He shook his head again. "No, Vito. For real." He sighed.

"It's worn me down to a nub, kid," he began, "Not just the trials or the Feds or the cops." He sighed. "It's the watching yer back, watching yer family's back, always afraid of some ambitious other mob boss wanting to hit you and take over…or worse, some guy in your own ranks, stabbing you in the back." For a moment, I thought he meant me. "Leo" again, I forgot the formalities, "I don't want to be Don, I don't want to take over." He smiled up at me. "Not talking about you, kid. That's exactly why I want you to take over. Who else but somebody who doesn't want the job, would leave me be in my twilight years, never fearing that I would try to 'come back' and muscle them out?"

"No, I'm out. Already made arrangements for a nice, fat bank account down in Miami. Got a place on the water at Palm Beach." I couldn't believe it. He went on. "I'll get me some little honey for a maid, who vacuums …both ways…." He managed a short laugh. "And finish out my time in peace and quiet." Then he looked up at me seriously. "You and Lydia and the kids can have my house in Hillwood. And I'm not going to leave you in the lurge, Vito. I'll stick around as your consigliere for a while, make sure there is no bad blood between you and any of my old boys and if you ever need me, a short plane trip down to Miami. But I'm out." He said good night to me, said good night to a few of the boys, and then had his driver take him back to his house. In one night, I became the one of the youngest Dons in the history of the Mob.

I got home that night and Lydia was waiting up. She asked me coyly if I still "had some left for her", but I balked and sat her down on the couch in the living room. At first she was shocked, as I was, then she seemed happy. After all, it meant millions, plus a mansion in the most exclusive neighborhood in Empire Bay, limos, yachts, European vacations, diamonds, furs, anything we wanted. Then, she realized the "price tag"…a big, fat target on my back for life. The number of Dons who didn't meet an "un-natural" end or prison, you could count on one hand. But, ultimately, if I didn't do it, somebody else would. Somebody that might decide someday that I was a threat, especially since I had been named "successor" once before…and take me out.

I called Leo the next morning and a general meeting of the capos was scheduled for Christmas Eve Day, 1957. At the meeting, Don Galante formally resigned as Don. By tradition, a vote was held by the caporegimes, but it was a foregone conclusion. I became "Don Vito Scaletta" of the Galante Crime Family.


	7. Chapter 7

BOSS OF BOSSES, TARGET OF TARGETS-

"Don Scaletta". Shit, it took me forever to get used to guys calling me that. Especially my old hands, Carmine and Corrado. Even when I "out-ranked" them, it was always just "Vito". I never pictured myself that way. At best, I just hoped to pull down a decent living, stay away from having to do too much "wet work", and getting out before I got old or some younger mobster decided to muscle me out.

Now, I, Vito Scaletta, poor kid of a poor immigrant, was one of the richest men in Empire Bay, if not the richest. And damn near "reputable". Outside of the "reformer" Mayors, who never lasted, or some ambitious Governor, suddenly me and Lydia were in with the "in crowd" of the whole damn State. Sure, your average politician didn't want to be photo'ed shaking hands with me, but he'd smoke cigars and drink brandy with me in a back-room, looking for a campaign donation, either from the unions or from the string of bank owners that I had under my thumb… depending on his party. Hell, Nixon talked with me in April of 1960 at a fundraiser for fifteen, twenty minutes, discussing "inter-state trucking."

Lydia was rolling. Wasn't a rich bitch in town who didn't want to be on her A-list for luncheons, charity events, or cocktail parties at our house. They kissed her ass and treated her like a fucking countess. She even invented a little "background" for herself. Said her dad was some Texas oil man, momma was a debutante from Atlanta, both dead from a plane crash. And that she had been "educated in France".

Such bullshit. Her mother never knew who her father was. Probably some john, given what she had said about being a "second generation whore". Her mom died of alcohol poisoning in 1937, putting Lydia on the streets when she was fourteen. And the only French she knew was "ménage a' trois", when it was her and her pal Gina giving me a "special night" for my birthday.

I played the game too, it's true. Suddenly my Pop was a "shipping magnate" who escaped Mussolini for the States in 1930 "with millions in a suitcase." Francesca was happy to back up that line as well. Her and her new hubby Kevin were set for life as well, and wanted to rub elbows with the same hoi-polloi. I even found a guy who made fake diplomas and got me a "Master's of Business Administration" from some college in Nebraska. It wasn't Ivy League; I knew I'd never be able to pull that con off, but it bought me enough status to hang with the guys who were.

But outside the parties and hobnobbing, business was getting tougher and brutal. And I was having to do exactly what Leo had warned me about…constantly watching my back.

First of course, there were the Feds. In the early 60s, Hoover was still on his crusade and pressure was building. Bobby Kennedy mostly. Before the end of the decade, they'd pass RICO and things would really get tight for us. Until then, it was a matter of keeping all the capos and soldiers from breaking the omerta, the code of silence.

Then came Vince Geppetti. He was a soldier in the Forelli Family. Eventually got close to Old Sal Forelli himself, head of the Family. For reasons nobody knows, he broke the omerta. Went before the goddamn Congressional Committee and spilled the beans on the whole of the Mafia in the States. Nothing that anybody could get prosecuted for, but all the "trade secrets" and history and made public that which had only been rumored about for decades. Suspicions fell on all the Families across the country. And the push in Congress came for more action to take on the "National Crime Syndicate."

Second of course came the drug fights. Heroin and increasingly marijuana were becoming a dominant part of our business. I was constantly having to muscle out some small-timer who tried to come in and horn in our trade. Or, having to knock down a peg or two, one of my own boys who started pocketing a "little on the side". Or worse, getting pinched for a bag of powder and then risking him turning State's.

Leo had warned us years earlier that drugs though an emerging part of our business, might also be our undoing. In addition to the Federal war on the Mob in general, they were upping the ante on going after drug deals and going after cops on the take. And the "old ways" of trying to keep it out of the "nicer" neighborhoods was getting tough. Nobody cared about some colored guy over-dosing or the occasional beatnik junkie dying in a flop-house, but it started creeping into the nicer universities and colleges and "nice, decent" middle-class white people saw their kids stoned or dead in their own vomit, they demanded the politicians and the cops do something about it. Hell, I didn't blame them. But, there was always "some guy who knew a guy" who knew one of my boys on the streets who was willing to sell it to them.

Then you had some foreign guy or organization trying to bring it into the city. Or even a few guys from the other Families, breaking the rules of territory trying to do it. Somebody gets shot in a deal gone wrong, and we had a war on our hands. And with all the easy money, everybody wanted in on it.

Third was Cuba. Almost immediately upon me becoming Don, the Revolution hit. All our holdings in the casinos in Havana became "property of the people" and the whole shebang folded like a house of cards. For most of us, Vegas kept things going, but it was a big hit in the pocket-book. Leone and Sindacco had leveraged everything into Cuba and lost millions. That's why they had sold out Nasty Cohen to Leo…starter cash for their Cuban operations.

That caused a secondary effect. Sal Leone and Tommy Sindacco wanted to come back to Vegas and our Family's near-exclusive to the town came to an end. Nobody wanted a war; we all knew it would kill the golden goose for all of us. But tensions ran high, as they started up competing casinos, fought for tourists, and even intimidated some of the entertainers into "avoiding certain hotels, in preference for ours." And again, the cops and Feds were all over us. By the late 60s, they had sting operations, wire-taps, and were putting the heat on all the local politicians to steer clear of anybody who seemed to "have Mob ties."

Sure, the dough kept pouring in. Me and Lydia even sold Leo's old place for an even bigger house in the suburbs of Empire Bay. And almost seventy percent of my business was "legitimate." But paranoia and fear among the Mafiosi…hell, among ME…was getting out of control. Two guys, often three with Corrado, were outside my house every day and night. The kids were watched at Hillwood Acadmy by a guy on the street. Lydia was driven to town by a driver and the same mug stood outside the storefront while she shopped. I don't think the President of the United States had the kind of security I had. In fact, come November 1963, I was pretty sure of that.


End file.
